Myfi sy'n magu'r baban
Myfi sy’n magu’r baban,
Myfi sydd yn siglo’r crud;
Myfi sy’n hwian, hwian,
Yn hwian o hyd, o hyd.
Bu’n crio bore heddiw
O hanner y nos tan dri,
Ond fi sy’n colli cysgu,
Mae’r gofal i gyd arnaf fi.
Myfi sy’n magu’r plentyn,
Bob bore a nawn a hwyr;
Y drafferth sydd i’w ganlyn,
Myfi, dim ond fi a’i gwŷr.
Ni wŷr ef air o Saesneg,
Nac un gair on’ heniaith ni:
I ddysgu’r t’wysog bychan,
Mae’r gofal i gyd arnaf fi.
Ond os caf fi ei fagu
I dyfu yn llencyn iach,
Caiff iaith brenhinoedd Cymru
Fod fyth ar ei wefus fach;
A phan ddaw yntau’n frenin,
Ac onid yng nghofio i,
O cofied wlad y Cennin,
Y wlad sydd mor annwyl i mi!
gan John Ceiriog Hughes
I am raising the baby
I am raising the baby,
I am rocking the crib;
I am crooning, crooning,
crooning still, still.
He/she cried this morning
from midnight until three,
but I am losing sleep,
all the care is upon me.
I am raising the child,
every morning and afternoon and late;
The trouble follows him,
Me, only me and his men.
He didn't have a word of English,
Nor one word of our old language:
to teach our little prince,
all the care is upon me.
But if I have to raise him
to grow into a healthy lad,
He will have the language of the kings of Wales
will always be on his little lips;
and when he becomes a prince,
and doesn't remember me,
let him remember the land of the leeks,
the land is so dear to me!
by John Ceiriog Hughes